Stand By You
by losamantesclandestinos
Summary: COMPLETE. Set post-Daydream Believer and The Number of Rats, Olivia and Hank deal with the consequences of Greg Yates and find that maybe, just, maybe, they don't have to fight their battles alone any more. Benoight.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : First of all, I'd like to thank Leslie for her suggestions and input and for being the primary person responsible for getting me hooked on Chicago PD. And also for being so encouraging! I'd also like to thank Imani, Sarah, Lucy and Mari – who have been my biggest cheerleaders. I love you guys. Thank you for being the reason I keep writing.

Be gentle, this is my first time writing Voight. He's a hard nut to crack.

And sorry for the title. I couldn't think of anything better. Suggestions welcome.

 **Disclaimer** : Bolded dialogue belongs to a certain deceased serial killer. Any recognizable dialogue and the characters belong to Dick Wolf and NBC. No profit is being made. I just needed to quench some major Benoight thirst.

 **STAND BY YOU**

 **Chapter One:** Every Time I Think You Die, You Come Back Again

… _.There were also ligature marks on her legs and ankles indicating she had been bound..._

Despite her best efforts, Olivia Benson can't keep from flinching, her knuckles whitening on her lap, hands clenched. Barba had warned her that this was going to be hard, he had worried about her in that way he always did – ever since she had been kidnapped by Lewis he had become rather protective.

Her mind flashes back to the rope and duct tape in the trunk of that car. The blood.

 _ **Suck it down, suck it down, detective.**_

Yates is talking now and telling his counselor that Nadia had wanted to get in the car with him, had been terrified for her life, that Voight had been raping her. That she had gone with him of her own volition.

 _ **We drank together, we took drugs together, we played with each other sexually...**_

 _These sexual injuries to Nadia Decotis, could that be attributed to active prostitution?_

 _ **So it was more of a flirtation.**_

 _She wanted me to get in the car with her...she was distraught...wanted to get away._

 _ **You might just hear a sound, but you still think of me.**_

The bile rises in her throat. Oh God, she thinks, not here, not now. Please. Not now. And she bites her lip to keep her focus. Nadia deserved no less.

Out of the side of her eye, she sees Voight looking at her. Had she made a sound? She hadn't thought so but she really needed to be more careful. He never knew what had happened to her and she doesn't want him to know. The suffering, the humiliation, no.

… _.Maybe you shouldn't be in here._

" _Mr. Barba, not to put words in your mouth, but I'm willing to entertain an objection."_

Yates continues to push Melinda, asked detailed, graphic questions about Nadia's final moments. His voice is soft, caressing the description of her terror and fear, a timber of excitement underlying his words. Melinda looks perplexed but as a dawning awareness comes over her face, Yates bellows in her face.

" _Come on, doctor, we're both medical people. Use your knowledge!" Tell me all about it, every single detail.._

Is that _arousal_ in his voice?

Pushing down her nausea, she sees the jury look at Yates in startled disgust. The mask had slipped and the monster had made his appearance. There's no hiding who he is now.

The jury does not take long to deliberate and returns a guilty verdict on both counts.

Olivia slumps in relief but not for long.

"Olivia?" It's Voight looked at her with a narrowed gaze. "Everything okay?"

"Just fine, Hank." She grins tightly. "Just let me step out to the bathroom before we go to that bar, okay?"

She rises and walks quickly out of the room before he can object.

Finding the closest restroom, she falls on her knees and empties her stomach. Knowing Voight would be waiting, she doesn't linger long, splashes water on her face, and takes several deep breaths. She goes back to what Lindstrom had told her so many months ago.

" _Healing takes time, Olivia. Just because you're talking about what Lewis did to you doesn't mean that you're totally okay. Recovery is an ongoing process. Some days will be harder than others. Don't blame yourself for them."_

" _But I don't want them to see me as weak."_

" _If Lewis had done this to another victim and she had survived and was talking to you, what would you tell her?"_

" _I would tell her not to be so hard on herself."_

" _Good. Take your own advice. Be gentle to Olivia."_

Taking a deep breath, she walks out of the restroom. The rest have gone to the bar but Voight's waiting for her, leaning against the wall, hands in his suit pockets. He wears it awkwardly, clearly unaccustomed to being without his trusty jeans. And the concern for her is palpable.

He definitely hadn't missed her reaction.

… _..._

"What was that in there?" Voight demands as he and Olivia Benson walks out of the courtroom. "Tell me, Olivia, _what the hell was that?_ "

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hank, and you better stop while you're ahead." Benson turns and stares at him. _Don't push me._

"He got to you." Voight's eyes narrows as he scans her face. Olivia keeps her face as impassive as possible, hoping, _praying_ , he hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed the moment she had frozen. Frozen in memory as she had remembered another time when a rapist had grilled her on the stand.

 _ **Ain't we got fun, detective?**_

She had wanted to bolt from the room, to go back to that stairwell. It had taken everything she had within her not to flinch as Yates questioned her on the stand.

 ** _Good morning, Detective Benson, how are you today?_**

 _Olivia, he can't touch you anymore...it is time to let Lewis go._

Funny how ghosts don't seem to listen. They never do.

"He got to all of us." Olivia says, words choked by the lump in her throat as she remembers Nadia. Poor Nadia...they had been too late for her. Just one more failure on her watch. One more face to remember when she kneels by her mother's grave. As she tries to fall asleep at night.

Hank looks at her with the _don't give me that shit_ look on his face.

"Olivia, how long have we been friends?"

"Longer than I can remember." She teases and deflects with a wry twist on her mouth.

Voight rolls his eyes. "Getting senile this soon, Benson?"

Olivia laughs. But it's brittle and sharp and it doesn't reach her eyes and Hank notices.

"Hank, it's really nothing to worry about. Just some unpleasant memories." Olivia tries to reassure him, realizing that he wasn't going to let this go. "Can we just go somewhere after we meet up with the rest and not talk about it?"

Voight looks at her intently, pursing his lips. "Sure. Your pick. But how about O'Malleys?"

"You really like that place."

"It's a cop bar. Food and drink are good and cheap. Can't go wrong with that." The hard lines in his face relax slightly as he grins at her.

But it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

They'd had lost too much this case.

 _To Nadia. Rest in peace._

…...

"How's the kid?" Voight asks, as he fingers the rim of his Manhattan.

"Noah?" Olivia asks.

"Naw, that punk Amaro. The one that threatened to take my copier." He says, deadpan.

Olivia chuckles. "I heard about that. I also heard that Platt was not amused."

Voight barks out a laugh. "Yeah, that'd be Trudy. Doesn't take well to strangers on her turf. And," he adds, "I meant the little kid. Not the big ones."

"He's wonderful. He's had some health problems but it looks like we might be moving past them."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Kid got the measles?"

Olivia's face grew serious. "Yes. There were some mothers in Tribeca that didn't believe in vaccinations. When a measles epidemic hit, a lot of them caught it. Noah was exposed." Her eyes were haunted as she remembered those long nights waiting for news, waiting for the worst to come. "But he made it through. He's a very resilient child."

"Sounds like he takes after his mom." Voight smiles, raising his glass. "Here's to no more hospital visits."

"I'll drink to that." Olivia returns his smile.

Voight studies Benson as she sips on her drink. It was clear from the look in her eyes how much she loves that little boy. He almost smiles as he thinks about Erin... DNA, blood, they don't necessarily make family. Family's the people who stand by you, who fight with you and for you.

The ones who would take a bullet for you.

For Voight, Erin, Justin and his family, and his squad, they were his family. He knew Benson had lost her mother early into her career at the Special Victims Unit but he still didn't know that whole story. There were a lot of things he didn't know about his old friend.

Like what had caused her to react the way she did in that courtroom. Greg Yates was scum but there had been something in her eyes, in her face, at some of the things that were said, that had set off Voight's internal alarms. Like it had hit home.

He'd seen that look in people's eyes before. Ones who seen hell and been to unfathomable places. And he is sure that something real bad had happened to Olivia.

By hell, he was going to find out what it was.

And kill the person responsible.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : Recognizable dialogue and characters are not mine.

 **Chapter Two** : Memories are a Bitch

"It's really good to see you again, Hank." Olivia says, the hunted look in her eyes less prominent now. "I just wish it was under happier circumstances."

"So do I." His face grows grave and sad. "Nadia... she was a good girl. Really wanted to make a difference. We shoulda had that son of a bitch sooner."

"This is not on you, Hank. We did the best we could."

"Yeah." He looks at his glass thoughtfully. "Cold comfort that."

"We both know that playing the blame game gets us nowhere." She says. "Trust me," Olivia added, with a cynical smile, "I've done it plenty. You know that as well as I do."

"Good to get a reminder now and then." Is all he says.

Both of them take large drinks from their glasses.

"Ever think of retiring?" Voight asks abruptly, breaking the heavy silence.

"Sometimes." Olivia decides to go with the truth. "Especially when I go to sleep at night and all I see are the faces of the people I've lost. The bodies I've buried. The ones I wish I could have helped but they...they just weren't ready...couldn't face what happened to them. There's so much darkness."

"I know it." Voight nods, sipping on his Manhattan. "We take the light where we can find it, y'know?"

Olivia scanned his face and his face is a mirror of hers. They've both lived most of their lives in the shadows and sometimes the light is a very hard thing to pin down. And the last few days have just added an extra heaviness to her soul, a sense that maybe, just maybe, it was getting to the end of the line for her. And perhaps he can read that?

Maybe he can sense the tiredness, the weariness. The pieces they're both missing because they've given them to the job.

He's been there too – and, around him, she doesn't feel so alone.

"So," he leans over, "I've got to get back to Chicago in the next couple of days. We need...to bring Nadia home."

"I know." She said softly. He has to go. They all do in the end.

And, once again, she'd be alone.

"I'd like you to be there."

"Hank," Olivia's startled and a little taken aback, "I didn't know Nadia. I'm not a member of your squad. I don't belong there."

"Olivia." Hank leans forward. "You helped catch the scum who killed her. You got her justice. You earned a place there. Come back to Chicago with me."

Voight puts his rough hand on top of hers. And there's warmth and affection in his eyes. And as Olivia looks back at him, something turns over in her heart. And the shadows are pushed back by glimmers of light.

"You're family."

Benson smiles. And this time it touches her eyes.

"Stay a couple days." He says. "I can show you my city."

"I might be able to do that. Last time was too quick."

"Yeah, that was too bad. This time we can take it nice and slow." And there's a small half smile at his mouth.

Benson's stomach turns over again.

She's pretty sure Voight's not just talking about a city tour now.

But he doesn't say anything else, simply gives her a slight smile. And they talk about nothing. And everything. He tells her stories from his squad room and she tells him stories from hers.

…...

They walk out into the clear New York night. There are no clouds to obscure the stars and it is cold. Olivia shivers from the biting wind. All these years in New York and she's never really gotten used to the bitter winter cold. The cold that pierces all the way to the bone.

"You've got a beautiful city, Sergeant." Voight says amiably.

"Even when it isn't." She responds, echoing words he had said to her once before, long ago.

And for a moment they both stand in silence, looking at the city skyline and inhaling the city air. Nothing quite like it. Olivia prefers it to the country, to the beach. She'll never be comfortable with solitary places ever again. They're either hunting grounds or hidden cemeteries. And sometimes they're where you lose your soul.

 _ **There's no one around to hear you scream, Detective Benson. So why don't we just have fun?**_

She flinches and Voight sees it.

His voice is raspy but soft with concern. "Benson, are you okay? Really? And don't give me that "I'm fine" crap."

And he puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Not completely yet, no." Her lips turn up in a sad half-smile. "But I will be."

"You can talk to me. I won't hold it against you."

"Trust me." She looks at him. "You don't want to know."

"Dammit, Benson." Voight looks exasperated. "Don't pull that "I'm just protectin' you" shit on me. Whatever it is, I can handle it."

 _I can handle it. I'm not going anywhere._

"No," she says, "trust me. You can't."

He gets closer to her, "Damn, you cops can be so thick-headed."

"You including yourself in that, Sergeant Voight?" Olivia grins up at him, irritation at his pushiness momentarily forgotten.

"Hell no, I'm an exception to all the rules." He spreads his arms out, giving her a cocky grin back.

"When you're not busy _breaking_ them." She mumbles under her breath.

"I heard that."

"You were supposed to."

He edges closer to her and he just smells like...the streets. But it's a good smell, the smell of hot dogs and cotton candy – like she'd smell at Coney Island – and the wet pavement after a fresh spring rain.

It's surprisingly intoxicating.

"Don't be so damned pigheaded, Olivia."

"Hi Pot, nice to meet you. Sincerely, Kettle."

"Ouch. I'm hurt." Voight makes a mock injured face. Then says rather abruptly, "How long we gonna keep this dance up, Benson?"

She starts to answer when Hank raises his hand. "Don't give me the 'I don't know what you're talking about' crap. We're grown ass adults."

"Well, one of us is." She smirks. "I can't speak for you."

He shakes his head, a reluctant bark of a laugh rumbling through his body.

"Now, what's this about a dance?" Olivia looks at him, a twinkle in her dark eyes.

And Voight pulls her to him and his mouth crashes down on hers. It's hot, hard, and his mouth is not gentle. But somehow it's what she needs and she pulls him closer by his leather jacket. His hands feel hot even though the night is so cold. His tongue tangles with hers and he tastes of Manhattans and pizza. An odd combination but not unpleasant.

Soon his mouth is on her ear and he bites it hard enough to make her shudder. Before she knows it, Voight's got her pushed up against a wall, mouth on her throat. While she knows Voight can be kind when need be, he's not exactly gentle and neither are his kisses. They're making out like a couple of horny teenagers and, surprisingly, she's definitely okay with this.

Then his hands slide up under her sweater, touch her skin. And they burn. His hands are rough but they're a part of him that is surprisingly tender. And then she feels his hand graze one of Lewis's trademark burns…one that had been done in a particularly brutal way. He had known just what to do to get those burns to scar permanently. And this particular one...

 _ **I'm gonna make it so you always remember me.**_

With Hank's mouth on her neck, it takes a supreme act of will for Benson to pull away. And she quickly pulls down her shirt, looking quickly in both directions to see if anyone else had witnessed the two of them mauling each other against a wall.

Voight's eyes narrow as he sees her hands tremble. He doesn't say anything but he knew what he'd felt.

"That was..." Olivia starts to speak quickly before Voight can say anything about her sudden pulling away.

"If you're gonna start with the 'we shouldn't have done this; it was a mistake; our emotions are running high' speech, you can shut up right now."

She laughs.

"Are you always this smooth with the ladies, Voight?"

"Lindsay tells me my charm needs 'work.' I've gotten no complaints."

"Well, for someone whose charm needs 'work', you're not too bad." She smiles, trying to dispel the slight awkwardness.

"Heh." He knocks his hip gently against hers. "Charm school must be working, then."

"Uh huh." She gives him a side eye and slight smirk. "This 'charm school' in the alleyways of South Chicago somewhere?"

"Don't knock Southside Chicago charm until you've tried it." He grins.

And then he grows serious. "Chicago still a go?"

"I think so." Her face is sad. "I'd like to pay my respects."

"She was a good girl." He stares off into the distance. "She didn't deserve to go that way."

"No one does." Olivia says softly. "No one deserves what Yates did to her. But you – none of us - need to remember her that way. You can choose not to give him that victory. Remember her as she was. Not as a victim. Don't let her abduction and death be her final definition."

 _ **This is the last thing you're gonna think about before you die.**_

"What happened back there, Olivia?" He asks.

And she knows he's talking about that moment against the wall when he had come too close. Too close to the scars. Too close to the permanent reminders that, no matter how far she'd come, she would never be the same person she once was. And she hesitates.

 _It's time to let Lewis go, Olivia._

 _You can talk about it now_. _He's dead. He can't hurt you. Not anymore._

"I was kidnapped and held by one of our perps not too long ago." Her voice comes out soft, almost in a whisper. "For four days."

"When?" His voice is hard as nails.

"Over a year ago." Olivia looks him in the face. "By one of our perps who had gotten off due to contamination at the lab. He came after me."

"Name?" Voight's face is hard as stone. She's seen it before. Most recently when they had discovered Nadia's brutalized body.

"His name was William Lewis."

And she starts to speak. Tells him things that she had only told Lindstrom. She kept it simple, stark. Like she was telling somebody else's story.

Much easier to open up when she can pretend it didn't happen to her. That she wasn't the one being brutally sodomized with her own service revolver. That she wasn't the one being forced pills and alcohol and burned repeatedly with keys, with wires, with anything he had handy. That she's not had sex since Lewis because she still can't bare her body to anybody's eyes. Because she doesn't want to see the pity, the instinctive distancing that any partner of hers would invariably have.

Her body is a roadmap littered with landmarks of tears and pain.

She doesn't stop because somehow she has needed to do this. To tell someone else. The memories have kept her prisoner for far too long. And Lewis doesn't deserve the victory of her silence.

"Lewis was waiting for me when I went home. I froze; he pulled his gun on me."

 _ **Welcome home, Detective Benson.**_

Voight doesn't say a word, he simply listens. His eyes are flint grey and narrow at a point beyond her.

"He subdued me, forced pills down my throat." Voight's mouth tightens into a thin line, fist slightly clenched.

"I told you it might not be best if you stayed in that courtroom because I _know_ what hearing that can do to a person."

"I don't need you protecting me, Benson." He finally speaks. "I'd like to think you respect me more than try to do that."

Olivia flushes but she knows he's right. Hank can take care of himself. He has for a long time.

So she just keeps talking and it all comes out. Everything. Even things that she had held back from Rafael Barba, and she's told him a lot because he had to know.

Voight's the first person she's told since Lindstrom. She can trust him in a way that she doesn't with many others. There's no judgement there. Even with people she works with, the more she opens up to them about what happened, all she can is pity in their eyes. And she's so tired of the pity.

It's exhausting.

And she's at the beach house now. Back in that room, strapped to the bed, struggling to get away. Fighting against the alcohol and pills coursing through her system. Feeling the bare bathroom floor underneath her belly as Lewis straddles her half-naked body and...

She just keeps talking. Now that she's started, she can't stop. Like a burst dam, the words come out in torrents. And she doesn't stop to examine too closely why it seems **easier** to talk about hell. Perhaps because he knows too much of it himself. And he deserves to know why Yates got to her.

It feels like it's been hours when she finishes, but it's only been minutes.

Now he knows.

Knows the humiliation, the degradation. All of it.

Or as much as she could bring herself to say out loud. There are some things she still cannot say. Because if she says them, it makes it real and even though so much time has passed, she isn't quite there yet. Not ready to admit it to herself.

The silence is louder than New York City rush hour.

Olivia can't bring herself to look at Voight. Because she can't bear to look at his face and see more goddamned pity.

"What jail is he in?" Voight finally breaks the silent, his words as sharp as broken glass.

"He's dead." Olivia says. "By his own hand."

The final **fuck you**.

When he looks at her curiously, she simply says, "Another part of the story that I can tell you another time."

He doesn't want to hear about Lewis' coating her with his blood and brain matter. Let her spare him that for now, at least.

She looks at him finally but he's staring out at the night, peering at some point far over the horizon.

"Hank?" She gets up from the bench and puts a hand on his arm. He's tense, like a coiled spring.

He turns and looks at her. Something's shining in his eyes, it could be the faint light, she's not sure. Before she could think about it too long, he pulls her into his arms in a bear hug. It's tight and strong and warm. Liv buries her face into his sweater and inhales the aroma of leather and Chicago and home.

"I shoulda been there for you." His voice is so quiet, laced with simmering rage.

"No way you could have known." Olivia gives him the forgiveness he's not allowing himself.

"I coulda followed the news. Goddammit, Olivia. I'm so sorry."

He holds on to her like he's never going to let her go.

"It's not on you, Hank." She leans back to get a good look at his face and is startled to see something almost like tears in his eyes. He's pursing his mouth like he wants to say something but is holding it back.

He shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, Olivia. I am so sorry."

And he pulls her back into his arms, resting his chin on her head, and they just stand there, underneath the stars.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Story earns its M rating here. So, yeah, consider this an official warning of Benoight sexytimes. This chapter was a bear to write so... any awfulness is purely mine. Chapter title and lyrics are from a song I think is perfect Voight/Benson. But I could be crazy.

Song lyrics by Marc Scibilia.

Chapter 3: **How Bad We Need Each Other**

 _And I need you more than I let it show,_  
 _And you need me more than you know,_  
 _We can't walk a single mile alone,_  
 _Yeah I need you, I need you so darn bad._

"This is nice." She says, about 30 minutes later.

"Hm?"

"But I'm getting cold." She smiles ruefully.

"That can be changed." Voight makes eye contact with her, his smile warm with affection. "I think we both could use some warming up."

"Damn right. My fingers are cold. Grab some coffee?"

"I had something else on my mind." He says, a little smirk on his face.

"Oh, I'm sure you do. Would you like to come back for a nightcap. I have whiskey."

"It wasn't whiskey I was thinking about but I can work with that." There's a look in his eyes that causes her stomach to flip over.

"You sure?" She asks. She knows what's going to happen if he comes back with her tonight.

"Never been more sure in my life. I think we both...could use it."

And neither of them are talking about simple nightcaps anymore. But, then again, it hasn't been about that. Not in a long time.

…...

Olivia's called Lucy and let her know she's on her way. For once, she's not apprehensive. Voight and she, they get each other and there's a comfort there. Most importantly, she trusts him, despite his tendency to break the rules. He takes care of his own and he's been making it clear that she's one of his own. Whatever that really means. And she's not going to think too hard about it right now.

Voight's hand is on hers, gripping it as he drives his rental Range Rover to her apartment. Before they go in, he takes a long look at her.

"It's not your fault, Benson."

Liv looks down at her hands. "Oh, I know. My shrink's told me that, my squad's told me that, _I've_ told myself that. And, yet, sometimes I wonder."

"Don't go there." He warns. "It never helps."

"That sounds familiar..." she smiles wanly.

"Yep. You got some good advice. I occasionally take it." And there's that grin she's finding herself rather weak for.

Lacing his fingers in hers, he looks at her. "Have any whiskey on hand?"

She simply smiles.

…...

Lucy's gone and now they're alone and she turns to pour him a drink.

When she turns back, he pulls her into his arms and, all of a sudden, there's no talking anymore. And Hank finds that while the whiskey is good, kissing Olivia is better.

His mouth finds hers. Hard, hot, and rough, his hands are roaming up and down her back. What had possessed her to not wear a button down shirt, she has no clue, and she's just having a hard time getting it off. So Voight makes her struggle easier by simply yanking it over her head.

He grins at her somewhat startled face. "Just tryin' to be helpful. Saw you were having some trouble."

And she can't help but laugh.

But then she pulls him to her, mouth soft on his. "Shall we move this someplace a little more private?"

Voight pulls back and strokes his chin. "I was thinkin' maybe we could give New York a good show."

Liv smacks him on the arm. "Be serious."

"I was." And then it's his turn to grab her and his mouth is hot on hers.

"Sure you were." She gasps out.

"Mmm." Is his only response, his mouth is too busy devouring her neck and throat. His hips rock against hers and she can feel how much he wants this because he's goddamned hard as hell. Throwing caution to the wind, shirt now completely off, she wraps her arms around his back and pushes back against him. He growls and she grins, bringing her hand down to rest on the front of his jeans.

"Goddammit, Olivia." He rumbles. And pushes against her again. She can feel the heat, the hardness of him through his pants. "We're both too dressed for this."

"I agree." She says. "Bedroom's through here." And before he could even ask, she reassures him. "I'm good. On the pill."

And they're in her bedroom and all of a sudden she's a little nervous because the lights are still on and her chest is now completely bared to him and he can see so many of her scars.

Soon he'll see most of them. There are others where people cannot see.

Her stomach rolls as she looks at him narrowing his eyes. Is he disgusted?

Maybe this was a bad idea. She reaches over to flick off the lights, suddenly insecure. It's been a long time and she's not beautiful anymore. Hasn't been in a long time.

Voight puts his hand on hers. "Don't. I want to see you."

"The scars..." she whispers. "They're not pretty."

"Fuck 'em. They're just a sign you're stronger than what tried to kill you. I've got so many, I've lost count."

She grows quiet and he puts his hand under her chin. "We all got 'em, Olivia. Nothing to be ashamed of."

So Olivia removes her shirt. Her torso, her abdomen, they're covered with burn marks, with Lewis' legacy. Hank doesn't even stare at them. He just looks at her like he's seeing her for the first time again.

And kisses her again. Murmurs something against her mouth about him being a little rusty and out of practice and she says she fucking doesn't care because it's been over a year and she probably doesn't remember how to do it right. And he rumbles out a laugh, pointing out it's like riding a bicycle. Except better.

Soon all their clothes are on the floor. He's not tall but he's burly, muscled. And warm. Olivia runs her hands down his bare chest. He was right. He's covered with scars, some from knife blades, some from bullets, others... she didn't want to ask. His body matches her, both of them wear their stories on the marks engraved into their skin, tattoos of wars won and Her mouth tangles with his and she presses her body against him and she feels Voight's cock hard against her thigh.

They fall on the bed, Voight's stocky body covering her and she's shaking because she really, _really_ wants this. He's looking down at her with a small smirk on his face, but it's a tender one and his eyes are warm with affection for her. Surprisingly, despite how fiercely he had kissed her earlier, he's a bit gentler now as he slides into her. And she gasps.

"Ughhh." Leaning her head back against her pillow, she crooks one of her legs around his waist. And he bends down to kiss and suckle on her nipples, biting them gently at first and then hard. She whimpers and he grins as he puts his mouth on her stomach, on her thighs, and... _oh, holy hell_...

"God, Hank.." she gasps, wrapping both of her legs around him.

"Let's not bring Him into this." He chuckles roughly. "Kinda awkward, don't ya think?"

Olivia would laugh but she's too busy trying not to moan from the things he's doing to her body. Some of which probably might be a little bit illegal. "Are you ever serious?" She gasps out and squeals a little as he flips her over on her stomach.

"Rarely. Now, enough talk." He growls.

His hips flex against her backside and he slams into her from behind. He's not huge, but a comfortable fit, and, oh my god, he's just right. Running her fingers down her stomach, she places her hand near where they're joined and strokes him.

He inhales with a hiss. She smiles and moves her hips up against him and she smiles as he growls in her ear. He withdraws from her and then slams into her again. She moans and he leans down to kiss her neck and hear the music of her soft cries. And he begins to pick up the pace, his body pounding against hers.

Soon all they can hear is just the slap of their bodies moving together and he's good and she's good and it's all so good. Olivia pivots around – because she wants to see his face, dammit - and she falls on her back, thighs outspread, and he plunges into her. Their mouths are tangled together but eventually his mouth slides down to her collarbone and then to her ear, where he bites her hard.

Olivia wraps her leg around his hip, pulling Voight further into her. And she yanks his head down – two can play this game – and bites his neck. Voight retaliates by picking up the pace, driving himself deeper into her. And it's just so... _good_. It's almost like a battle, the two of them, for who can get the upper hand.

 _Good God, Hank, are you always this domineering?_

 _Yep. Is that a problem?_

 _I actually find it funny that you think you have the upper hand..._

 _Are you telling me I … (sharp intake of breath) oh, low blow, Benson.._

 _All's fair..._

 _Benson?_

 _Yeah?_

 _Stop fucking talking._

(At this point, it's a draw.)

Then the pressure's building... and he's driving, driving, driving, as deep as he can down into her body and then he hits her right there and...Oh. My. God. She explodes, wanting to cry out but she's mindful of Noah sleeping and Voight's mouth is on hers so he can swallow her cries. Her body continues to shake, her legs trembling and she moves as fast as she can, raising her body to meet his, letting him pump furiously into her until finally he falls over the edge.

He collapses on her, both their bodies covered with sweat.

Olivia grins a little as Hank exhales loudly.

And he rolls off her and slides underneath the covers.

"Not too bad for being 'rusty'" She says with a little smirk. "Think you could do that again?"

"Give me a few." He puffs a little. "Not as young as I used to be."

"Thought you might say that." She grins. "So let me help you out."

And she slides down his body... Voight's eyes close and he smirks to himself.

God, he really did like Manhattan.

…...

It isn't Noah that wakes her in the morning, but the glare of early sunrise. She's usually up before Noah is and this morning is no different. What is different is the warm body in the bed next to her. She stretches casually – or maybe not so casually – and slides her body against Voight's. He mumbles something to himself and slides an arm around her waist, pulling her into him.

She closes her eyes, relishing in the closeness, for once, not even concerned about what this could mean for both of them. A faint wave of sadness runs through her as she realizes that his leaving is inevitable, he has his life back in Chicago and she has hers in New York. This interlude, as lovely as it is, is just temporary.

As most things are.

She sighs.

And feels a warm mouth on her neck, rough hands against her bare skin. Grinning to herself, she playfully stretches against him and he's hard...again. Which is somewhat surprising. Despite his protestations of being rusty and out of practice, he had sure given her a good run last night. Never had been an ache between the legs felt so delightful.

In the warmth of early morning, he slides into her again, his hands caressing her breasts, softly stroking them. They don't say anything real meaningful – both of them realizing that soon they'd have to face the cold reality of separation and saying goodbyes. His hands trace each of her curves as if he's trying to commit each one to memory. His mouth runs over her shoulder, her collarbone, and suckles at her breasts. Inhaling sharply, Liv pushes up against him, winding her legs so they tangle with his.

"Hank." She whispers. "On your back."

He raises an eyebrow.

"That is not a request." She grins.

And she rides him. Slow, hard. Running her fingers down his stomach, his abdomen, she smiles as she hears the hitches in his breath. He likes to put on this show of control but with just...one...touch, she knows how to bring the tough, hard-nosed sergeant to his knees. Her mouth presses on his, and his hips flex up against her, driving himself firmly into her.

The previous times had been hard, fast, and, at many moments, rough. She flushes at some of the things they'd done the night before (some of which were undoubtedly illegal in many parts of the country) and as he looks up at her, he gives her a cocky grin as if he knows exactly where her thoughts are going. _Smartass._ So she raises herself up and comes down on his cock, enjoying his sharp intake of breath that comes out more like a hiss.

Swiveling her hips, she feels him grow inside of her. And she circles her hips again. Leaning down, she kisses him hungrily, her hand reaching down between them to touch his cock where it's entered her. He bucks against her as she tightens her legs around him. Soon she's moving faster and so is he and all of a sudden he has her flipped on her back and is pounding, pounding into her, his hard hips driving her into her mattress, his mouth latching on to hers like she's his oxygen and he is hers and.. oh, oh, oh...she leans her head back and he's suckling on her breasts and all of a sudden...again...she's...almost...there..and...just...once...more...She comes hard. Not five minutes later, he lets out a low, guttural groan, stiffens, and her body's flooded with his warmth. She collapses and he falls next to her, breathing heavily.

"Good morning to you too." She laughs. And it's music to his ears but he doesn't let her see how much it moves him. No use showing those cards if the future is so unclear.

So he simply pulls her into him again, looking down at her.

And he's smiling, a real smile. The last days have been hell on him and his squad and sad farewells are still to be said, but he's found some light in the darkness.

"A penny for your thoughts." Liv says, looking up at him, blowing exasperatedly at her post-sex bed-head.

"I think I'd better charge a quarter." He chuckles roughly. "Inflation, y'know?." He touches her hair, brushing it from her face. "I was just thinking how much I enjoyed this."

"Same." She smiles.

"When you come to Chicago, stay with me." He says. "Cheaper than a damn hotel."

"Won't your squad talk?"

"Not to my face if they know what's good for 'em. What I do with my personal life is none of their goddamned business."

"We'll see." She adds with a smile, reluctant to agree right off the bat.

He acknowledges her caution. "Just letting you know the offer's there."

"And I appreciate it." She kisses him. "You know, you're not as big a hard-ass as you let people think."

"Take that back, Benson." He growls teasingly.

"Make me." She challenges.

"I would but I need coffee." He groans.

"And I gotta get Noah." Olivia starts to slide out of the bed, now fully cognizant that it's light out and her scars are ever more visible. And she's naked. She slides a shirt over her bare chest. And the rest of her.

"Seem's a shame you have to cover up such a good view. A total waste, if you ask me." He winks.

"I didn't ask you." She grins and throws her pillow at him, walking off to get her son.

He smirks as he catches the pillow before it whacks him in the face.

 _And I need you more than I let you know._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note** : Quotes from John Donne and Sarah Williams. Chapter title from "How Bad We Need Each Other." In this story, Nadia doesn't have much family, so it veers slightly from canon.

Chapter 4: **And I Need You More Than I Let You Know**

He takes his time rolling out of bed; he puts on a good show for Benson but he's not as young as he used to be and places hurt. All the scars...they take their toll. Oh, he's still fit but there are mornings he feels his age to the bones. This is one of them. And Voight remembers what the squad will face in the next few days and he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand.

They'd already lost so much. How were they going to handle this?

He knew they'd get through, they always had but each member lost...each person gone... that's another limb that's gone missing and it always takes time to learn how to move without it.

 _No man is an island._

 _...if a clod be washed away by the sea_

 _Europe is the less._

He puts his boxers and jeans on, but sits back down on the bed, staring at his shirt.

"Can we come in?" Olivia asks. And she's holding Noah and smiling.

"Sure." He pulls his shirt on. "Let me make myself respectable."

"You?" She raises an eyebrow. "Never gonna happen, Hank."

He raises his hands. "Guilty as charged. But at least let me try before bustin' my balls."

Olivia laughs and then adjusts Noah in her arms. "Hank, I want you to meet my son."

Noah's a little suspicious but after a quick look at his smiling Mommy, he peeks at Hank from Liv's shoulder.

"Hey, kid." Voight's weathered face cracks a rare grin.

"He's a little cranky this morning." Olivia confesses. "I don't think he likes his baby food."

 _I want froot-loops._

"That sh—crap is disgusting." Hank makes a funny face and Noah giggles.

 _Mommy, you should listen to the funny looking man. Clearly, froot loops are better for babies._

"Hank." Olivia looks at him admonishingly. "Don't encourage him."

"It's just the truth. I hated that stuff and I know Justin's kid does too."

"I forgot you were a grandpa." Olivia smiles. "Then why don't you hold Noah for a bit. I'll make us some breakfast."

Voight cocks an eyebrow at her. "What? Your traditional milk and cereal?"

"I can cook a dam...darn good omelet, I will have you know." Olivia says firmly. "Can you stay?"

Hank glances at his watch. "Sure. Don't have to be at the ME's office for a few hours yet."

Olivia sobers. "They're releasing her body this soon?"

"Yeah." He scratches his head. "The investigation's over. I told 'em we wanted to get back to Chicago as soon as we could. Arrangements to make. Red tape to get through. You know the drill."

She does. Only too well.

Olivia looks at him with sympathy.

"That's never easy." She says.

He shrugs. "It is what it is."

"You've got a long day ahead, let me get you some food. Mind holding him for awhile?" She eyes Noah. "Can you be good for Uncle Hank?"

 _He hates baby food too. He's my new best friend._

"Hank, you've done this before." She grins at her...friend? Lover? Whatever _this_ was..."He's not going to bite."

 _Actually, I do. Mostly kids who give me measles..._

"Come here, kid." Voight opens his arms and Olivia hands him Noah. She waits a little, perhaps fearing that Noah will get even more fretful than he's already been this morning.

 _Mommy, really, I don't_ _ **always**_ _cry when a stranger holds me. Plus, this funny looking man? Hates that mushy stuff you feed me. Baby thumbs up._

"You let me know if he starts acting up."

Noah eyes Benson.

 _Mommy, give me some more credit. I know I'm just a baby, but still._

He turns his head to Voight and starts chattering in incomprehensible baby babble.

 _Unca Voight, let me tell you about this thing called Mountain Dew. And, while we're at it, froot loops. They're delicious and I really think Mommy should let me have them more._

Despite the heaviness in his heart, Hank gives Noah a faint smile and starts walking around the apartment with him. As Olivia prepares their breakfasts, she smiles as she views the two of them...Noah babbling and laughing, Voight doing that half grin that he does.

And she notices that the lines around his eyes have relaxed. The sun streaming in from the window bathes them in a warm glow and it's all just so right. Even though she knows he's done this all before – the whole baby thing – she can't get over how natural he looks, cradling her rambunctious toddler in his left arm. He points at something out the window and says something to Noah. And Noah babbles back in that way he does.

 _Why would you even SAY that to a baby? That's ok, Mommy told me you haven't had a baby in a long time. So I guess I can let it go. THIS time. But only if you agree on the froot loops._

She can hear the babbling from a distance and she smiles. Never, in her wildest dreams, had she ever thought her greatest wish had come true. But here they are. Sometimes people need to go through the darkest valleys and shadows to get to the light.

Hank eyes Noah.

"I guess we understand each other." He says.

"Mop." Noah says firmly. _I trust we're clear on the whole froot loops issue. And the Mountain Dew. And no mushed peas._

"You got it, kiddo."

"Got your omelet." Liv says and comes over and takes Noah. "He was a good little boy, weren't you, little man?"

 _Mommy,_ _ **please**_ _, I'm always good._

"Being a mom suits you, Olivia." Hank comments, as he chews his omelet. "And this is delicious."

"You sound surprised." She grins.

He looks slightly abashed, but only slightly. "I had heard your cooking was...well..."

Now she's a little irritated. "You were talking to Fin again, weren't you? Or was it Nick? It was Nick, wasn't it. Dam-darn that man. He said he liked my tacos."

Hank chokes.

Liv's lips twitch. "Do not say a word, Hank Voight."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sergeant." He gives her a smirk and her stomach does that funny flip again. And she remembers his mouth on hers, on her skin.

He polishes off his omelet and coffee in about five minutes and sits back in his chair, looking at her with an enigmatic look on his craggy face.

"I'm glad you're happy, Olivia. I'm just sorry I couldn't be there for you. Couldn't stop..."

Olivia's smile is sad. "It happened, there was nothing anyone could do. But it's over. And," she smiles softly at Noah, "I can't complain now. Not at all."

 _Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light._

 _I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._

… _..._

Their goodbye is far too brief and bittersweet.

Lucy's come to spend some time with Noah, giving Benson a chance to be alone with Hank before he sets off to the ME's office and ties up loose ends so he can return to Chicago.

"I'll be seeing you soon." He says, his eyes tight and haunted again. While they're both glad that this parting is only temporary, they know their reunion will be tinged with sorrow as they say a more permanent goodbye.

Olivia smiles at him, and drops her hand to his, squeezing it. "You did the best you could. She couldn't have asked for a better family. You didn't fail Nadia, Hank. None of you did."

His only response is a half smile and a muttered, "Mm." He doesn't believe her. And she gets that. You always think you could have done more. It will take time.

"See you in Chicago?" She knows a deflection when she sees one and she very carefully says nothing more about Nadia Decotis. It isn't the time. Or the place.

"Count on it."

And a smile breaks the harsh planes of his face.

"Take care of yourself, Olivia."

"You too, Hank."

She's turning to go back into her apartment when she feels his hand on her arm. When she turns back to him, his mouth comes down hard on hers again. His kiss is fierce and kind and warm as he pulls her to himself. It's both a promise of hope and a reminder that she – that neither of them really - don't need to be bound by the chains of the past.

She can be happy again.

Both of them can find their bearings again.

And, maybe this time, they wouldn't have to do it alone.

 **CHICAGO O'HARE – One Week Later**

Red-eye flights are a bitch, Olivia thinks, as she stumbles off her United. I could definitely do without having to wake up at 3 in the morning, she thinks as she gets out of her seat. Covering a wide yawn, she grabs her carry on from the overhead compartment and disembarks the aircraft. Strolling through O'Hare, she stops by a coffee kiosk for a triple espresso. Picking up a few magazines at Hudson, she makes her way to the entrance as her cell phone rings.

"Benson." She says, stifling another yawn.

"Good to hear your voice." It's Voight and she hears the strain under the smile. "Long flight?"

"You have no idea." She replies. "But it's good to be here."

"I'm glad you are." His voice is rough and tired. Benson suspects this week's taken a tremendous toll on Voight; she can hear it in his voice.

"Where are you?" She asks.

"Unfortunately, I got stuck at the precinct. I'm sorry, something came up." He's so apologetic but she gets it.

"Say no more. I'll meet you over there."

"Looking forward to it."

…...

"Sergeant Benson. Good to see you again." Trudy Platt is still the same. Curt, abrupt, but gracious. And, as Benson's found, the owner of an incredibly sharp sense of humor. If you were willing to dig. The only difference Benson can see now is that she looks old, worn down.

"I'm so sorry for your loss." Olivia says quietly.

"Thank you." Platt acknowledges her words with a simple nod. "He's expecting you." More taciturn than normal, she leads Olivia up the stairs to the squad room.

"Sergeant Benson," she starts to say as Olivia goes past her into the room.

"Call me Olivia." Benson replies. "What can I do for you, Sergeant Platt?"

"I just wanted to thank you for catching the scum who did this. That's all." She meets Olivia's gaze steadily. There's a shimmer of tears, of something broken behind her eyes, but she does not falter. And Olivia respects that, admires it.

"I'm glad that I could." Olivia nods.

Platt simply bobs her head in acknowledgment and walks away.

Olivia stands a moment, looking after Platt, and her shoulders slump.

 _I should have done better. I could have saved her._

 _ **Don't go there. It never helps**_ **.**

She turns around and the squad room is bare. The desk where Nadia used to sit is so empty. There are brown boxes around it half full with Nadia's personal items. As if someone had started to pack up her desk and just hadn't the heart to finish it. She knows how that goes.

She's done it before. For someone else who has never come back.

Dawson, Ruzek, Lindsay, Halstead, Atwater, Olinsky, ... they're all gone. Must be out on cases or maybe they just couldn't bear sitting around and staring at the place their comrade used to be. Absences leave such a hole.

There's only Voight and he's sitting in his office.

For a moment, she just stands there and looks at him. He doesn't see her and he's seated at his desk, his shoulders slumped, like he's got the weight of the whole world on his back. This was personal to him and she gets it.

She's lost people too. Ones that she had been so close to saving. And you always feel that even if you did the best you could, your best was never going to be good enough. And you can't forgive yourself for not trying harder even though you know there's nothing more you could have done.

It's those goddamned hypotheticals. The what-ifs. They're what kill you in the end.

"Hank." She says softly at his door.

He looks up and his eyes are so tired. But he has a lopsided smile which lights his face when he sees her.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, Benson." He grips her arms tightly.

"It's only been a week."

"Feels like longer." He rubs his face.

"Spoke with Nadia's family?"

"She didn't have much of one. Her parents are both dead, she's an only child. Got some cousins some where. They didn't care."

"You were her family." Olivia says softly. "The ones that mattered."

"Yeah." He nods, staring out the window at the stark Chicago skyline.

"How's Erin doing? I know they were very close."

He doesn't say a word, his mouth thin, a hard slash against his closed-off face. "How about we not talk about that?"

Olivia's a bit stung but she gets it. Voight's private about his family and she's on his turf and she's got to respect that. This is not her squad, not her family. She's just a visitor.

"Fair enough." She says briskly. "What time's the memorial?"

"Tomorrow at 10." He's still not looking at her, clearly not wanting to talk. The 'keep out' sign is up for all to see. But Benson's not offended. Everybody has demons to fight. And sometimes the battle's got to be fought alone.

He's grieving. And there's nothing she can do about that.

The silence grows long. And it's tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, then, Hank...I'm going to go back to my hotel and rest. It's been a long morning."

That gets his attention.

"Benson, I meant what I said. You stay with me."

"Hank," she shakes her head, "I can't possibly."

"Please. I insist." It's all he needs to say. He's still impassive, no hint of emotion on his face. Still just staring out the window at the slate grey Chicago sky. But there's something in his voice...

And before she can think, "okay" comes out of her mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Chapter title from "Dead Leaves And The Dirty Ground" by The White Stripes. Lyrics from "Mirrorball" by Elbow. Recognizable quotes and characters the property of Dick Wolf and NBC.

Chapter 5: **Every Breath That Is In Your Lungs Is A Tiny Gift To Me**

 _We took the town to town last night_  
 _We kissed like we invented it_  
 _And now I know what every step is for_  
 _To lead me to your door_

...

Voight unlocks the door and ushers her in. "It's not much," he apologizes.

"Don't worry about it." Liv reassures him. "It's perfect."

"There's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right of the master bedroom." He indicates up the staircase. "And there's an extra bathroom right besides it. Like I said, it's not fancy, but it's home."

"Thanks, Hank." She makes to take her bag from his hand. But he puts his hand on her arm.

"I got it." And he smiles. This time it touches his eyes and he looks at her. "It really is good to see you, Olivia."

Her smile back is tired but genuine. "The feeling's mutual."

He goes up the stairs with her and drops her bags in the bedroom. There are lots of windows looking out on what's obviously an older Chicago neighborhood. It's still cold so there are few leaves on the trees but she feels like this can be beautiful when the trees are full and green, spreading their graceful arms across the roadway.

She lifts open the window sill and even though the air is cold, she loves the cleanness of the air. Taking a deep breath, she inhales the crisp air.

Maybe she could be happy here.

Now where did _that_ thought come from?

"Hi, Lucy," she calls her nanny, "I'm here in Chicago. Everything's...going as well as can be expected? How's my boy?"

She listens for a few moments, smiles. "Thanks, Lucy. Just keep me posted. You can reach me anytime. I'll be home in a few days."

Closing her phone, she tosses her jacket across a chair and lays down on the bed. And falls to sleep dreaming of leafy green trees and Chicago streets. And a battle-scarred Chicago PD sergeant carrying the weight of the world.

…...

When she wakes up, the light's fading through the fingers of the tree branches, shadows dancing across the light wallpaper. And there's a light rap at her door.

"Come in." She calls.

"Hey." Voight stands there, still looking dead tired, beer in hand.

"Hey yourself." She swings her legs around and gets up. "I must look a mess."

"I've seen worse." He quirks a faint smile at her.

"Jesus, Hank, you're good for my ego." Liv responds sardonically.

He simply smirks.

"Beer?" He asks, offering her a chilled bottle.

"Sure." And she takes the bottle from his hand and takes a large sip. "God, this is good. What is this stuff?"

"Pepe Nero. It can be an acquired taste but it's damn good. Look, Benson, about earlier..." Voight suddenly looks a bit abashed. And a little ashamed.

"Hank." Liv looks at him. "We're good."

He nods. They understand each other. And this time the silence that falls between them is comfortable.

Voight steps slowly into the room. "It's really good to see you, Olivia." Puts his hand on her arm. "Really." And then on her face. "Good." He brings his face to hers, his mouth just inches away from her mouth. His breath hot against her face. She can smell the fumes of dark beer and they're delicious. And she feels if he doesn't touch her _right now_ , she's going to explode.

"Hank." She whispers.

"What?"

"Enough talking."

Abruptly, his mouth takes hers.

And she can feel all the pent up grief and pain Voight's been tamping down as he savages her mouth, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, grinding his hips against hers. Hands roaming all over her body, pulling, almost tearing at her shirt. Olivia kisses him back just as fiercely, comforting him with the touch of her hands, trying to tell him without words that it's going to be okay, he's not alone, he'll make it through. He doesn't have to fight this himself.

He stops for a moment, takes a deep breath, leaning his forehead against hers. Trying to focus through the smell of her light floral scent. Taking several more deep breaths, he struggles to regain control. As much as he'd like to take her right then, right _now_ , and just lose himself in her, it'd been a long day for both of them. And they both have to eat.

They have time enough.

"So. How about pizza?"

Olivia smiles and, in his eyes, she's never looked lovelier. "Is that _all_ you eat?"

His only response is a weary grin.

…...

They don't go out for pizza after all. He takes her to this small Italian casual eatery in Oak Park, along the main drag. It's nothing fancy, Hank's not very comfortable with upscale restaurants. Like suits, he'll deal with them when he has to but he's much more at home in mom and pop places.

"How did you find this place, Hank?" Olivia asks through another delicious bite of homemade gnocchi.

"I get around." He replies, taking a sip out of his beer. "Actually, Nadia clued me into this place. Said she had stopped here with some folks. Been coming here awhile now."

"It's delicious."

"Place is family owned. Been in their family for generations." Taking another swig of his beer, he leans back. "The lasagna's gonna be my death one day."

"Or deep dish pizza." She grins.

"Or deep dish pizza." He clinks his bottle with hers.

After they finish eating, Hank takes Olivia to a small gelateria a few doors down from their restaurant. "Benson, I never took you for a wuss." He says when she points out that it's still winter. She orders the gelato.

Both of them stick with simple chocolate hazelnut, neither of them really caring to try some of the more exotic flavors. After they finish, Hank and Olivia walk a little bit further down the small town, taking care not to wander into some of the rougher Oak Park neighborhoods that lay across the tracks.

But soon the wind picks up again and it's sharp and the chill pierces Benson to the bone. The Midwest winters have a nasty bite and it's too early in the year for that to be ending anytime soon. She shivers, tucking her hands into her coat. Why she didn't remember to bring gloves with her on this outing... she could kick herself.

Hank doesn't say a word, simply takes her hand in his.

"You asked about Lindsay earlier." He says abruptly.

"Yeah, and about that... I'm sorry if it seemed like I was prying." Olivia says apologetically.

"Nah." Voight brushes it off. "She's having a tough time of it, poor kid."

"I knew they were good friends."

"Roommates and, yeah, she's taking it real personal." He shakes his head. "And I can't help her."

"In my experience, the only thing that helps is time." Olivia says sympathetically. "Time and distance."

His jaw flexes as he considers her words. She squeezes his hand gently.

"The thing with Lewis..." she says slowly. " _I'll never be over it. But I have my life back now and I can deal with it now_. Grief works the same, I feel. In time, the rawness, the hurt, the trauma, it fades. It doesn't mean she'll forget. She'll never forget..." her voice breaks a little, "...but she'll be able to move forward."

"Preaching to the choir, Benson." And she could kick herself. She's forgotten he's been through this too many times before.

His words are harsh but somewhat surprisingly the look on his face isn't. This case has been hard on both of them. His squad has lost a family member and she... the memories of the worst time of her life had been dredged up and she had to plaster on her game face and pretend that she was okay with it. To be strong for the rest of them, to ensure that justice was done.

And he realizes that she's just trying to help both of them.

"It'll be okay, Hank."

He looks thoughtfully at her, gives her a tired smile, and they both walk back to the car.

…...

It's still relatively early when they get back to Voight's place and, shockingly, neither of them have been interrupted by a phone call. Olivia calls Lucy to check in with Noah while he's pouring them both a nightcap. Tomorrow was going to be rough and both of them are avoiding sleep because they both know they're not going to get much.

For a wide variety of reasons.

They both drink their whiskey in silence. Liv's finally lost some of the chill from her walk in the winter air. The silence is comfortable and, yet, it's charged. They both know what's coming and, yet, Olivia feels a little shy. What this is with Voight is so new and she's not sure what it is exactly. She's not a big fan of "official" relationship talks and she senses that he isn't either.

They don't need to figure it out now.

He's just looking at her as if he's seeing her again for the first time. And he puts down his glass.

"C'mere." He says.

"Did it occur to you to say 'please?'" She raises her eyebrow. Not going to make this easy on him.

"Nope."

"What am I going to do with you, Hank Voight?" Liv cocks her head at him with affection in her eyes and mild mock exasperation.

"I have a few ideas." He grins.

"Oh? Care to share?"

"I was thinking maybe I'd show you." He moves close to her and she sets down her glass.

"Bring it on, Voight." She challenges him, eyebrow raised.

 _Oh, boy...maybe challenging him wasn't the best...oh, hell YES...oh, please, yes._

Suddenly she's slammed up against the kitchen wall, his body pushed against her, one of his hands already at the button of her pants and the other against the wall. His mouth is on hers, so hard, that she can feel their teeth clash together. Her hands are busy trying to remove his sweater. Hank's mouth moves to her neck and she pushes her hips against his because, oh god, she's already so hot and wet and how the hell does this keep happening?

Put the two of them in the same room and they're gasoline and flame.

Reaching down between their two bodies, she grips the front of his jeans. She's not shy with him because she knows he really, _really_ likes that. He inhales sharply, his arm shaking slightly as he braces himself against the wall. Before she knows it, he's gotten her pants halfway down her legs, and he's put his hand on her clit, pressing down hard. Hank Voight wastes no time.

"Ugh." She groans against his mouth, her fingers undoing the fly of his jeans. And, soon, his pants are down his legs and so are hers and he's so fucking hot and large. Pressing her hips against his body, she runs her mouth down his throat and bites along his collarbone as she reaches down and grips him again...hard. He's not a loud man but she can definitely feel and hear the groans rumbling through his stocky body. Liv slips out of her pants altogether and slips down her panties. By now, he's also out of his pants and just in his sweater and boxers.

Slipping away from him, Olivia smirks as she unbuttons her shirt.

"Are we really gonna do this here?" She asks.

"Yup."

"But it's cold." Does the man have any insulation at all?

"Suck it up, Benson." He smirks.

And as soon as all their clothes hit the floor, he's on her. Pressing her up against the wall, he lines himself up with her and instead of slamming into her, as she expected, he surprises her by going really slow and easily into her. Somehow that turns her on more and she arches her body up towards his, trying to pull him in deeper.

"Nope. Not gonna happen that quickly." He grabs her wrist, but gently, and bites her on her neck.

"Changing the game, are we?" She gasps out.

"It's no fun if you don't." He winks and pushes his body hard against her. Despite the chill in the kitchen, she doesn't really feel it, they're generating enough heat to warm up several rooms.

Voight circles his hips against hers and then when she's relaxed and moving against him in a slow, steady pace, that's when he withdraws and buries himself in her.

 _Oh, that's going to leave a bruise_ , Olivia winces a little as her back slams into the wall. And he pulls out and slams back in and she's devouring his mouth like it's been years and she can't get enough. He flexes his hips and, oh, oh, oh...it's just...she leans her head back, exposing her throat to his mouth and he runs his tongue along her skin, his hands squeezing and kneading her breasts and ass. She wraps her left leg around his to pull him further into her.

All she can feel is Voight. He's around her and in her and everything is so damned _good._ Voight pulls out and runs his hand down her body, plunging two fingers into her. As she gasps and moves against his hand as he moves his fingers in her roughly, he looks into her eyes and there's a gentle smirk on his face, affection in his eyes, beneath the hardness of the sorrow. Something turns over in her heart and she starts to believe that maybe she can find her happy ending after all.

She puts both of her hands by his face and kisses him hard. He leans forward against her, head touching hers, his nose nuzzling hers and for a moment they stop and just breathe each other in, his hand continuing to stroke her, fingers playing with her clit. "God, Benson..." he mutters, against her neck, mouth continuing to nip gently at her flesh.

"I'm flattered. It feels nice to be worshipped." She chuckles lowly and as he slips out of her momentarily, her hand reaches down and strokes him, relishing the feel of him grow under her touch. And he laughs and kisses her again. Hard.

And then buries himself in her again. And, for a moment, he just lingers there, holding her close, mouth against her shoulder, her hair, body shaking. Then he starts pounding in her furiously, she giving him back everything she's got. And they're both so close and, oh, oh, oh...just...one...more...there...Ahhhh...

Olivia comes first, body shaking, biting down hard on her mouth not to yell and disturb the neighbors. Because wouldn't that be embarrassing. She keeps moving against him as she rides the aftershocks and just a few moments later he spills into her with muffled curses and a groan. They both collapse against the kitchen wall and she makes a shaky comment that maybe he might need to do some cleaning after all this.

"Tomorrow." He looks at her and takes a deep breath. "Benson..."

"What is it?" She looks up at him and all he sees are those gorgeous brown eyes, tired but immensely satisfied. And happy.

"Nothin'." He smiles tiredly. "Just glad you're here."

"I'll take a welcome like that any day from you." Liv smiles.

He barks a laugh but then grows serious. "Stay with me tonight."

"In case you hadn't noticed, Hank, I already am."

Voight gently slaps her ass. "Smartass."

"Guilty as charged."

"Sleep with me tonight." He clarifies.

"Aren't we already doing that?" Liv chuckles.

"Dammit, Olivia."

"It's fun to push your buttons."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, have your fun." He smirks. "Payback's a bitch, y'know."

Olivia picks up her shirt and slides on her panties. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll see you in a few."

"Master bedroom." He says as she walks out of the room. Pursing his lips, he takes a moment to enjoy the view.

"Quit staring at my ass, Voight." Liv calls, laughter in her voice.

As he puts on his pants, he simply chuckles and shakes his head.

 _What a woman._


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Lyrics by Glen Hansard, "Falling Slowly."

Disclaimer: Characters and recognizable dialogue aren't mine.

Chapter 6: **Interlude**

 _You have suffered enough_  
 _And warred with yourself_  
 _It's time that you won_

 _..._

It's an hour later and Voight's in bed, reading a James Patterson thriller. He still reads them even though he can predict who did it by page 35. He finds that it keeps his thinking skills sharp. And, goddammit, every guy needs a guilty pleasure that no way in hell they'd tell their squad about.

No one needs to know that he gets email alerts for Patterson's newest books. Although, sometimes Erin gets that smirk on her face – which resembles his way too much – and sometimes he thinks she suspects.

"What is this? Bring your work to bed day?" Liv indicates the thriller that he's reading. "Don't you get enough 'excitement' on the job?"

"It's not the same at all and you know it." Voight grins as he looks at her. She's in a simple black tank and drawstring pants. For a long time after Lewis, Olivia had refused to wear anything baring her arms. She hadn't wanted anyone to see the evidence of how badly he brutalized her. There's one scar that winds its way from the inside of her wrist, up her arm, to her shoulder. After he had finished with branding her with keys and hangars, he had decided to play some knife games with her.

She hasn't told anyone about those. Even Hank. There's still so many things she hasn't told him.

"Left side's mine." He tells her in that raspy voice of his that turns her inside out so unexpectedly.

"Aren't we bossy."

"Just sayin'." He gives her a grin.

She's still standing by the bed and, for a brief moment, she feels a little strange. She's not used to sharing a bed with a man for other purposes than sex. Usually, she and her partners would fuck and then they might cuddle a little and fall asleep. There wasn't too much talk. That had always been a bit too domestic for her. She'd done it with Brian but that was a long time ago and she hadn't allowed herself to get to the point where she would sit in bed with her partners and just do...nothing at all. She hadn't wanted to get to a point where she would be remotely vulnerable.

"I'm not gonna bite, Benson." Hank grins. "Our little workout earlier tired me out."

"That's what you said last time." Liv points out. " _And_ , as I recall, we ended up staying up half the night doing... _that_."

"Olivia, we're both adults. You are allowed to say 'sex.'"

She smacks him with the pillow.

"Ow."

"Don't be a baby."

"Hey." He raises both of his hands."Truce?"

"Okay." She slides into bed next to him and lays down. His pillows are surprisingly comfortable and they smell completely of him, fresh, clean, and like the city itself. She hadn't realized how very _tired_ she was until then. Bone tired. From everything. From trying to get Greg Yates, from the search for Nadia, to the moment where they found her brutalized body, blank eyes staring up at the winter sky...with each job, a piece of her keeps disappearing. She's been wondering lately if soon there will be anything left of her.

He puts a bare arm around her, pulling her into his side, and looks out his window into the Chicago night.

"Benson?"

"Mmm." She says sleepily, her eyes closed, curled into his side.

"Have I told you that I'm glad you're here?"

"You might have mentioned it a few million times." She mumbles, eyes open now, smiling lazily at him.

"Just checking." He dims the light and lays down, pulling her into him.

"I've kinda missed this." He whispers, over the stillness of the night. "Having someone." And he has. While he's found his life with his squad fulfilling, he's missed Camille terribly. While there's something to be said about having a weakness enemies could exploit, he's been considering that sharing a life with someone again may not be that terrible. Especially if that someone understands his life – who has seen hell like he has and understands the toll the job takes. But these are thoughts he doesn't allow himself to consider very long.

He's done some bad things in his life and maybe being alone is the price he has to pay. His penance for his many sins.

Olivia smiles against his bare chest. "Me too."

He rubs her bare shoulder, stopping a little at one of the scars. "This from Lewis too?" He asks quietly, breath hot against her skin.

"Yeah. He had this thing where he'd heat up keys and play 'let's see how long I can put it there until she screams' games. Sometimes it took him a long time. Other times, well...it didn't." Her voice cracked slightly, and she bites her lip, embarrassed that she's showing any weakness at all.

"You sure he's dead?" Voight's voice is low and deadly. "If not, we can exhume his body and I can make damn sure he is."

"Oh, he's dead." Olivia says, "I saw him do it."

And Voight's body stiffens slightly. He suspects what's coming but, at the same time, he's praying it wasn't the case. "Tell me he didn't..."

"He did. He told me he wanted it to be the last thing I saw before I died." It's been a year and she still has a hard time saying these words. You can never forget the feel of blood on your face, in your mouth, on your hair. Bits of flesh clinging to her skin. Some nights she scrubs and scrubs and she can never be clean. She tells him then, about Amelia, about the showdown at the Granary.

Not the type of thing she ever imagined telling someone in bed. She's always been pretty good at keeping the division neat and clear between sex and intimacy. It's a lot easier to just commit to a good fuck and have someone gone by the morning than to open herself up, to share pieces of herself with someone else. The job takes enough as it is, she's got barely enough of _her_ left for herself to give it to another person.

Besides why share when they were only going to just leave?

Noah was a rare exception to this.

She'd give everything to make that boy happy and protect him with her dying breath. Because, unlike the rest, he's been giving back to her the pieces of herself she's lost on the job these many years. He's saving her.

"That piece of shit did the world a favor." Hank mutters, stroking her arm protectively, mouth against her hair.

Olivia can't disagree with that.

Rolling on to his side, Voight pulls her in and kisses her on the mouth. Not hard this time at all. With gentleness and tenderness that takes Olivia by surprise. This is a side of him she's not seen much of – only little glimmers now and then, mostly when he's around Erin Lindsay. She opens her mouth under his and slides against his muscled, battle scarred body. The kiss is long, slow, and comforting. For a few moments she lays halfway under him while he caresses her mouth with his, moving his lips along her jawline, her cheek, her ear and her hair. He doesn't try to push for more, simply skims her skin under her tank top with his hand and puts his hand under her chin. Gives her an intense look, jaw set, but, as intense as his look is, it's also one of warmth.

There's something changing between them and she's afraid.

Olivia feels moisture on her cheek and realizes, to her surprise, that she's crying. This startles her because she thought she was done with the tears. And she's embarrassed because despite what Lindstrom has told her, she still feels weak when the tears come. Feels like somehow she's still giving Lewis power over her. Voight's response is to simply lift her chin with his hand, and brush a roughened thumb across her cheek.

"He's dead, Olivia. He can't touch you any more."

"But he can still hurt me." She says quietly and it's the first time she's admitted that to anyone. The words scrape themselves out of her throat, slicing as they spill.

Hank pulls her into his body, cradling her head against his chest.

"Never again." He whispers against her hair.

It's his promise to have her back. As best he can.

That night, her demons retreat and she sleeps in peace. Nightmare-free, the first time in many months.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: _Well, with this chapter, this story is complete. It just felt right to end it here. Thank you all for your support and lovely reviews. This has been my labor of love both for SVU and Chicago PD. Title and lyrics from Big Star's "My Life Is Right." Other quotes are from the show and for the Mass of Christian Burial._

Chapter 7: **You Give Me Life And That's Right**

 _Lonely age of uncertainty_  
 _They disappear when you're near me_  
 _When you're around my life's worthwhile_  
 _And now I long to see you smile_

By the time she wakes up, Voight's already out of bed. The smell of bacon and coffee is wafting up the stairs, prompting Liv to get out of bed, throw on her short robe and make her way downstairs. Voight's cursing at the griddle because the bacon's starting to look a little extra crispy. She can't help grinning at the colorful profanity emanating from the stove area.

"Need some help?"

"No, goddammit." he barks sharply.

Liv's not phased. She knows today's going to be difficult. It's not about the bacon.

She goes over to the stove. "Let me do it, Hank. Don't be an ass."

Grumbling, he takes a seat at the table, rubbing his face with his hand. Mutters to himself as he practically inhales his black brew.

She's able to salvage the bacon, slides it on a plate for both of them, and grabs some toast.

"You made coffee. Bless you." Taking a sip, she smiles and closes her eyes. "And it's good too. I'll forgive you the bacon."

He cracks a faint smile at that. "Heh." Olivia looks at him closely, there are pronounced circles under his eyes. Clearly, sleep's been eluding

They sip their coffee in silence and slowly. Both of them unconsciously trying to prolong the moment before they have to go upstairs and get ready to bury one of their own.

The silence this morning is heavy and sad. Olivia doesn't try to break it. Sometimes silence is the only balm for an open wound. This is the part of the burden that she doesn't get to carry. Because she didn't know Nadia. Not really. And this isn't her squad.

She's just a stranger there at the request of a friend...lover...whatever this was, she still wasn't sure. Maybe it's simply two people coming together for comfort. It's hard to read Voight sometimes - he's not exactly been committal. She's shared so much with him but he...he can be so closed off.

He's already lost the love of his life so she's not sure if he'll ever be able to truly let her in.

Chicago is worlds away from Manhattan, after all.

And would she want to share space with a ghost?

But then again, would one more ghost matter? She already lives with so many.

…...

"Benson. We gotta go." Voight barks as he paces restlessly at the entryway. He's dressed in his full sergeant's uniform and it's heavy and even though the weather is cold, it's uncomfortable. But it's a small price to pay to honor the girl...woman... who had become so important to all of them.

"Sorry," Benson apologizes as she meets him at the step. He just looks at her. She's wearing her sergeant's dress uniform, hair twisted up. It takes her a moment to figure out that he's looking at her with something like approval. But he doesn't say anything, simply opens the door for her and gestures her through it.

When they reach the church, Voight finds a place to park and they both walk into the vestibule. Nadia was traditional Catholic so she's being buried out of Old St. Mary's in downtown. Ruzek, Alinsky, Lindsay, Halstead, Dawson, Platt, Burgess, Roman, and Atwater are all waiting for Voight. She lets him go ahead and hangs back.

This is where she disappears into the shadows. This is not her place. This is his family, Nadia's family.

Platt sees her standing back and walks over to her. "Thanks for coming today, Sergeant."

"It's my honor." Benson replies. "I'm sorry we didn't find Yates in time."

"They don't blame you." Platt says. "If that's what you're thinking. So if you're here just out of some misplaced guilt, well, you can turn right around and go home."

"I'm here to pay my respects to a very brave young woman." Liv says firmly and she and Platt lock gazes.

Platt nods. "Then we're good. Sit with us."

"I couldn't..."

"Not a request, Sergeant." Platt's words are harsh but her eyes aren't.

 _We're all family. Cops stand with each other._

Liv's not going to argue. Not here. So, nodding at the members of the squad, she stops in front of Erin Lindsay.

"I'm so sorry." She says softly.

"I know." Lindsay's clearly struggling but she's got her game face on and it's clear that she won't welcome anything that might be considered "coddling." "She was dead the moment he took her."

"If you need anything..."

"I got it." Lindsay's chin goes up. "We got it." Liv doesn't say anything further but she recognizes the pink clouding when she sees it. Erin Lindsay is trying, trying so hard to keep it together, to block the pain. To pretend that she's okay, that she's not internally blaming herself for Nadia's death. It's going to be a rough fall when the pink clouding ends. But she can't tell her that. It's not her place.

Some things people just need find out on their own. So Liv simply nods and makes her way into the church.

…...

It's been a while since Liv's been in a church. She's really had not much use for God. Or maybe it's that God hasn't had much use for her. With everything she's seen, been through... Olivia finds it hard to believe that there's some omnipresent, all-knowing Being that "cares" for people. Because no God would allow the suffering that she – and Hank – see on a daily basis.

But she respects those who hold to religion. Whatever grounds them, keeps them sane, she's all for it. And, clearly, it works for some.

To each their own.

 _Though I should wander the valley of death, I fear no evil for You are at my side..._

Where was God when Yates was brutalizing Nadia? Where was he when she was screaming and crying for it to end?

Where was He when Lewis was brutalizing her? Where was He when she was screaming and crying for it to end?

 _Surely your kindness and mercy follow me all the days of my life..._

Where was the mercy when Yates dumped Nadia's body, covered only by a black tarp, dignity robbed even in death?

Voight, Halstead, Olinsky, Atwater, Ruzek, Platt, Dawson, Burgess, and Lindsay are all escorting the plain wooden casket down the aisle of the church. Voight's face is completely impassive, except for his eyes. Olivia turns away because the pain is so raw, she feels like she's intruding on something very personal.

The veil is drawn back and she's catching a glimpse of the man that buried his wife long before it was her time. The one who had to stand by and watch as cancer dug its way through the love of his life. Until she was all hollowed out and unrecognizable. He's only mentioned her very briefly but the look in his eyes had said enough.

And, although the service doesn't last very long (according to her watch), it feels interminable.

…...

 _Let us pray, dearest brothers and sisters for our beloved sister, Nadia Magdalena Decotis whom the Lord has called forth from this world and whose body has been given to us for burial._

Olivia bends her head in respect and, although she herself is skeptical in the existence of God, she asks for mercy and comfort for the grieving squad members, whose hard faces are masking fractured hearts. The squad who has been broken once more and will never be the same again.

Out of the hearse, Dawson, Atwater, Olinksy, Voight, Halstead and Ruzek lift the coffin and place it down so that it can be lowered into the open grave. And each of them step forward to put a handful of dirt on the coffin, except for Lindsay.

She lays down a white rose.

Nadia had always loved them.

… _..._

"When I met Nadia for the first time, one of the first things I said to her when she was still jonesing for a fix was 'if you want a life better than what you got, I will help you get to the other side. That is a promise. Nadia, "Erin pauses, collecting herself as her voice shakes, "...Nadia was one of the bravest people I've ever known. She was tough. She was following her dream. In the end, I wasn't the one who got her to the other side. _She_ was. Because that's the kind of person Nadia Decostis was. Tough, determined, and courageous.

She fumbles and takes out a sheet of paper. " _Uh, the deputy chief sent this over. I figure I'd share it.'Ms. Nadia Decotis, this letter is to commend you on being accepted as a recruit to the Chicago Police Department.'"_ Lindsay's voice breaks. " _She would have made a hell of a cop. Certainly one of the bravest._

Nadia wanted to be a cop because she wanted to make a difference. And I just wanna say that her life wasn't in vain because, in the end, she did make a difference. She made a difference in Jay's life, in Dawson's, Olinsky's, Platt's, Hank's...mine.." her voice cracks again..."all of ours. Nadia was committed and that never changed.

Nadia might not have gotten to wear the uniform or carry a badge. But she died a cop."

Lindsay puts her hand on the plain oak casket elevated over the open grave and her voice softens. "I will never forget you. _We_ will never forget you."

 _Grant that our sister, Nadia, may sleep here in peace_

 _until You awaken her to glory._

….

 _This is my resting place forever._

… _.._

And that's when she breaks. Voight walks over and pulls his surrogate daughter into him, his face set hard. And she's trying hard not to sob but the cries are so raw.

Olivia's standing back, not wanting to intrude, almost wanting to turn away from the pain, to spare them a stranger's eyes viewing such naked agony. She's seen it before, the grief-stricken parents, lovers, friends, who threw themselves at her, pounding her frantically, begging her to tell them that it's not true, that their baby isn't gone.

The wind is cold and bitter and small flakes of snow are starting to swirl around them. As they lower the coffin into the ground, Lindsay manages to pull herself together, throwing back her shoulders.

Hank scans her face intently. Lindsay simply nods, he grips her shoulder and then they both turn to watch the coffin being lowered into the grave.

… _..._

The drive to the bar is a quiet one. Neither Olivia nor Hank feel like speaking. The pain is just too close to the surface, too raw. And, while Olivia did not know Nadia that well, she grieves for the loss of the young woman who clearly had so much potential. Who could have been a good cop.

They were all robbed. And there'll be no forgiveness of Yates from any of them.

Some things are just beyond forgiving and forgetting.

They've decided to meet at Molly's for a good old-fashioned Irish wake. Because Nadia deserved to be remembered and not for the way she died. _Remember me with laughter and smiles, not with tears. I want you smiling for me._

Although neither Benson or Voight say a single word, Hank reaches over while he's driving and grips her hand.

Both of them are struggling with their own ghosts who have followed them to that tiny little cemetery in Oak Park, where the snow is falling gently over a freshly dug grave.

When he parks the car, they just sit for a moment, taking deep breaths.

And Voight's just gripping the wheel, knuckles white against it. Each person he buries...it feels like another failure. Someone he could have saved and didn't. And he's seeing another he loves slip away from him like smoke on the breeze.

"I don't know what to say to her." The confession is jerked out of him as if he's been forced to speak the words. And this troubles him more than anything else – he's always been able to help Erin but she's going to a place where's she only been once before. And that had been hard as hell to get her out of there.

Liv looks over him sympathetically. Doesn't try to offer advice, simply listens.

"I'm no damned good at this." Voight curses.

"I think you're better than you think you are." Liv tilts her head at him. "It's just gonna take time. You know that."

He rubs his face with his hand. "Goddammit. We don't have time. Lindsay's gotta have her head in the game. And if she spirals down..."

"Then you'll catch her, Hank." She squeezes his hand. "If anyone can save her, you can. She trusts you. You're her family."

Hank takes a deep breath. "I dunno, Benson. She's been this way once before. Back when she was in the middle of her bad habits. I had a hard time getting through to her then. And Bunny's back in her life now and I can't fight blood."

"Sometimes people hit rock bottom before they're willing to face their demons." Olivia says quietly. "You know this and I know this. You hate that they need to go through it but sometimes the journey to heaven leads through hell."

Hank looks over at her and her face is drawn. She's trying not to but he can tell Lewis still takes up a lot of space in her mind. How could he not? He'd put Olivia through hell and there are moments he marvels at her strength. For her to have gone through that and not totally broken... that takes huge strength of will.

Benson's core is steel through and through and Hank can't help respect and admire that. She's his equal on so many levels and it's been a long time since he's met anyone like that.

The last one was Camille.

"Also, Erin may be leaning on Bunny because she doesn't think she deserves better." Olivia adds quietly. "When you're beating yourself up, you don't think you're worth the love of the people who genuinely care about you. It's easier to go to the people who keep taking from you. _You accept the love you think you deserve_. And you can't always fight that. Sometimes you just have to let them go and trust they'll make their way back."

"When did you get so wise, Benson?"

Olivia smiles at Hank tiredly. "The way most people do, through experience. And I wouldn't call it wisdom, really – more like realism and acceptance."

He unbuckles his seat belt.

"Walk with me." He says.

"A please would be nice, Hank." She grins.

Hank rolls his eyes a little.

"Fine, _please_ , then."

"Better."

He barks a short laugh, scratching his head. "You're gonna make me whipped, you know that?"

Olivia simply gives him an enigmatic smile. One that, despite the stressful events of the day, really turns him on.

They both get out of the car and walk a distance from Molly's, to a place that's a little sequestered and private. There are some trees over there and empty buildings. It's so quiet; like the whole world is subdued that day.

Hank stands and looks out on the buildings. Looking at him, Olivia realizes that he's looking tired and _old_ and it sends a pang through her heart. It gets tiring fighting so many battles ...and even more wearying losing them. She's not the only one who has been losing pieces of herself to the job.

She reaches for his hand and grips it tightly. And his thumb runs gently over hers, gratefully acknowledging her presence.

"You and Lindsay...your entire squad..." Olivia says, "you'll make it through this."

He sighs deeply. "I wish I was that sure."

"The Hank Voight I know isn't a quitter." Olivia says, a little sharply. "He may be a pigheaded, bull-in-a-china-shop, stubborn son of a bitch but he's not the type to quit when things get tough."

The faint smile on his face is tired and lopsided and skeptical. "Jesus, Benson, I'm flattered." He quips, a bit sardonically.

"You know it's true."

He bows his head in acknowledgment and grins slightly at her.

"I'm glad you're here." He says.

"I am too." She smiles.

And that's when he turns to her and pulls her into his body. For a long moment, they just stand there embracing one another. He smells of Chicago, the wet streets, the air laden with the smell of dead leaves, the sharp clean air, and the smoke of small bars. He pulls back to look at her and something she sees in his eyes makes her stomach flip over. Gently, he brings his hand to her face and, almost unconsciously, she turns her face into it.

What was it about this stocky, burly, rough-around-the-edges, not-just-bend-but-break-all-the-rules cop that got too her so much?

Maybe it's that he fights as hard as she does to get the victims justice. It might be more rough and tumble than what she's used to – or what she'd even find remotely acceptable – but it gets the job done.

Maybe she likes his rough sense of humor, or maybe it's his deep sense of compassion and caring for the people under his command. He's got a loud bark and even stronger bite – but the bites really are reserved for those who go after his city...and the ones he loves.

He'd do anything for them.

Maybe that's what she loves.

And she freezes.

 _Is she starting to fall in love with Hank Voight?_

There are so many reasons why this would be such a bad idea.

First, long distance. Manhattan and Chicago are worlds apart.

Second, their methods. She plays by the book – he likes to not just toss the book in the garbage but pretend he never got the book in the first place.

"Stop thinking, Olivia." Hank whispers, seeing the hesitation and uncertainty in her eyes.

He leans forward and presses his mouth against hers. It's not hard and rough, like most of the others have been, but it's gentle, warm, and kind. It tastes of whiskey – even though he hasn't been drinking yet, it's just how he tastes - gratitude and home. His arm is around her back and rubbing it gently.

And she kisses him back with everything she has. He pushes her back against the tree but gently and nibbles on her ear. Placing her hand on his face, she kisses his mouth and cheek and nose. It's all affection. And she's not afraid.

 _I think I might love you a little, Voight._

"Olivia, maybe this isn't the best place or best time..." he starts awkwardly. God, he's so not used to doing this and he's just as uncertain as she is. Both of them are rusty.

"You talk too much, Hank Voight." She whispers, trying to ease his discomfort.

He grins. "So I've been told." He brushes a wisp of her hair out of her face. For such a tough guy, he can be so gentle.

They wrap their arms around another again, his mouth closes over hers, and this kiss is different from all the others. It's a promise, hinting at a future.

Pulling back, Voight's craggy face is serious. "Olivia, I want this to work."

"This?" She laughs a little nervously. "You have to be more specific." Because she's still scared.

 _Oh, God, Olivia, could you sound more idiotic?_

"I think this," he gestures between the two of them, "can work."

"I do too." She's initially surprised to hear these words come out of her mouth, given her doubts and insecurities. But she suddenly realizes that she means them. Despite their differences, they have a shot.

 _This is my Hail Mary, a chance at happiness_.

And different isn't always bad. It's just... _different_.

"I thought Camille was my last shot." Voight says quietly. "I was wrong." He looks at her intently and Olivia can't speak. All her words have deserted her.

"I'm in if you are." He tells her. Behind those brown eyes, normally totally confident and self-assured, is a tiny glimmering of uncertainty. Because she could say no and he knows that what this is between them is still so tenuous.

But she's ready.

"I'm in, Hank Voight." And Olivia finds her voice, as shaky and tremulous as it is.

It's been a long few weeks and cruel ones. And the world outside is still cold, Nadia is still gone, Yates is still alive, and Voight still needs to figure out how to pick up all the pieces from their shattered world. But in this moment, everything is good and the world is kind.

He pulls her into him again and nuzzles her nose.

"Here's to us." And he kisses her.

"To us." She smiles against his mouth. She's finally come home to harbor. And they are both home.

…...

 _I feel like everything in my life has led me to you. My choices, my regrets, my heartbreaks. Everything._

 _And when we're together, my past seems worth it. Because if I had done one thing differently, I might never have met you._

 _..._

 _You give me light_  
 _You are my day_  
 _You give me life_  
 _And that's right_  
 _So right_  
 _So right, so right_


End file.
